


Zero Sum

by RurouniHime



Series: Zero Sum series [1]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spy, Angst, Character Death, Conspiracy, First Kiss, Guns, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Near Death Experience, Nightmares, Partnership, Psychological Trauma, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-27
Updated: 2011-07-27
Packaged: 2017-10-21 19:38:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/228981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RurouniHime/pseuds/RurouniHime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are a few certainties in Jared’s life these days. One, Jensen comes across as slightly paranoid but, two, his intuition is always sound. Three, when Jared listens to it, they both stay alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Zero Sum

**Author's Note:**

> Title borrowed from Nine Inch Nails’ song Zero Sum.

He wakes and there is pain, so much of it that he can’t hear for the buzzing in his ears.

The only coherent question he’s got has to do with where he is at this moment. The rest feels like it makes sense one instant, and then does not the next. Holy fuck, his body _hurts_. There is light, somewhere; he turns his face toward it, and something cinches around his arms.

Noise. God, he can’t—

He opens his mouth and has no idea what comes out. He still can’t hear. He becomes aware of how cold he is, how fucking freezing, and then it’s all gone again.

**

Jared dreams of an island off a long stretch of coast. It’s warm, the night air is fragrant. He’s running through the jungle, dirty and elated, arms pumping, hands flying out to fling branches aside. Every part of his existence makes sense. This is where he’s meant to be, not back where he was. He doesn’t know where he was, but he’s not there anymore. He’s free. He got himself free.

They come up behind him fast and drive him into the ground. The back of his neck stings.

**

He dreams of Jensen.

He’s been with Jensen a long time; Jared can’t clearly remember a time when he wasn’t with Jensen. Jensen’s quiet, pensive, even crouched low behind a blockade with a 9mm in his grip, while Jared shouts at their adversary from several yards away. Jared lives in taunts and laughter, and while he distracts them, Jensen sneaks up behind and cleans the canvas with a shocking fluidity. Like he’s marking off a checklist with each kick, each uppercut. Each jab to each throat.

There is a thud as Jensen’s opponent hits the ground. Jared leaps up and runs, grabbing the second guy coming up on Jensen’s back, and takes him down with a punch to the solar plexus, an elbow to the face. He wrenches the guy’s arm behind and up, trapping him on the ground. Dislocating his shoulder.

The guy screams and Jared knocks his head into the earth with one shove, silencing him.

He looks up to see Jensen using the butt of his gun on the base of the last guy’s skull.

**

Jensen’s alias has been Steve Carlson for the last eight years. Jared knows better now.

There are moments when Jared’s lungs catch, usually when he’s alone on assignment, when he knows for certain that he’ll never trust anyone with his life as much as he trusts Jensen.

**

When he wakes again, he remembers light burning his retinas, zip ties cutting into his wrists and ankles, and a cold table at his back.

He’s no longer on the table. That’s all he knows. His side is one heavy bloom of white heat and he’s holding something in his right hand. It’s dark out, or he’s gone blind. The air is warm like in his dream, rich with fermenting fruit. He curls his fingers and feels the weight of someone else’s fingers against his palm.

**

 _Jared, just drink your fucking drink._

“Jared? Drink this, come on.”

His throat feels ripped. It’s hard to breathe, and he recalls being strangled. Then it’s gone, washed away by warm water. He inhales some and coughs, an all new pain. He can’t sit up on his own. Someone holds him upright until his lungs work again.

“Okay. Okay, that’s fine, alright.”

 _Just drink it already, you pansy._

**

Shouldn’t have happened this way. He shouldn’t be here.

But he is.

They’re angry, and rightfully so. After all, he got away. Cut himself free, killed a guard, and nearly made it to the shore. You can’t get caught again after that, because then it’s not about information, it’s about punishment. Sometimes it’s about sadism.

Jared bites his tongue against the cry lodged in his throat and clenches his fists. The man above him enjoys this, Jared can see it in the way his mouth twitches upward with each slice. It’s a big knife, but he’s only using the tip of it.

The next cut comes just under his ribs, and this time Jared can’t help his scream.

**

Jensen’s mouth purses. _One man job?_

 _Yep._ Jared needs a cigarette. Which is weird because he doesn’t smoke often. It’s bad for his business.

Jensen hands one to him without looking over. _I’d rather it wasn’t._

 _Yep._ He lights it off the candle on the nearest table and takes a drag. Colorful lanterns swing in the breeze; there aren’t many people sitting on the patio with them. The servers tonight are relaxed and easy, smiles for everyone.

Jensen’s fingers tap against the rail they’re leaning on. He’s in black trousers and a wine-red turtleneck with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Jared knocks ash over the side of the patio.

 _Back before you know it,_ he says, and grins.

Jensen wrinkles his nose. _You kidding? Been waiting for you to go away for years._

**

He’s choking. His mouth tastes like blood. He takes a weak sort of pride in the fact that he hasn’t given them anything they’ve asked. Except his favorite color. That was slightly amusing.

His tormentor leans over him. Stares him in the eye. “You’re never going home, you know that?”

Jared lifts his chin, the best he can do to beckon the man closer. The man’s eyebrows rise. He leans in even further. Jared whispers.

“Home, home on the range, where the deer and the—”

His assailant straightens and backhands him in one smooth motion. Jared’s cheek sears like it’s been branded; his neck gives a worrisome crack when he rights himself. He feels the cold slide on his chest again and can’t stop the sound he makes.

The man raises the blade in front of Jared’s eyes. Jared can see his own blood on it.

**

Agent Carlson’s fingers close around his arm. _Give it a minute._

Jared shrugs. _Nah._ He pats his new partner’s hand and stands up. _Hey, over here! I’m a cop, I can get you what you want._

He sticks his head around the corner of the pillar long enough to make eye contact, then steps out slowly, arms raised, and waits for the approach of footsteps. The guy gets far enough to nudge Jared’s shoulder with the barrel of his gun, and then Carlson’s hands whip out and drag his legs out from under him. The gun goes flying, and the guy’s partner shouts in surprise. She’s a nervous one; Jared’s on her before she can even get her weapon cocked.

Carlson drags his quarry out by the back of his collar. The man’s forehead is turning purple from whatever blow knocked him out. Carlson looks barely ruffled, tie still in place, suit coat still buttoned. He’s young, close-cropped dirty blond hair. He narrows green eyes at Jared. _For the record, I don’t like you._

Jared smiles, uncertain. _Aw, I’ll grow on you._

The guy twitches and Carlson lands him another punch without taking his eyes off Jared. _I doubt it._

**

Jensen shakes his head. He’s got a cut oozing blood down the side of his face, and a long rip in the sleeve of his shirt. His ankle is as swollen as a balloon and he’s holding a cocked gun with nothing in the chamber. _I fucking love you, man._

Jared gestures back toward the extraction helicopter buzzing dust up into their eyes. He slings an arm around Jensen’s torso, helping him duck beneath the spinning rotors. _Yeah, I know._

**

Jared blacks out. When he comes to, he thinks Jensen’s the one above him. He’s wrong.

The man pats his face almost tenderly. “Wake up, now. I’m not finished.”

The radio spits. _“Sir, we have a breach!”_

The man jerks the radio up to his mouth. “Say again, over.”

Static. _“—codes are fucked to hell. Trenton—”_ More static. _“—got inside—s dead, and he’s—”_ The voice is swallowed by a spatter of gunfire.

Jared blinks. His torturer springs into motion. He gets to the door and waves the other man in the room over. “Kill him. Now!”

The second man hurries to the table. He’s a big guy, bigger than the other. Jared yanks on his bindings, but he hasn’t been able to get loose for hours and he still can’t. The man is on him before he can think, massive hands gripping his throat. Squeezing. Jared writhes, choking. Something explodes beyond the door, the sound muted. The man’s grip tightens, cinching off Jared’s air. He gasps for more and can’t get any. His vision turns black at the edges, little sparks of the void trickling further and further inward with each ticking second. Jared gags. Jerks. Heaves his torso off the table and falls back down. His throat is grinding shut, a mass of ugly pain, and he can’t do anything to stop it, can’t so much as twitch his fingers. _No. No no no no no—_

“You useless— _Kill_ him!”

The pressure suddenly releases and Jared inhales raggedly. He sees spots, and then the man who had been trying to strangle him stumbling away from the table. His original torturer looms over him once more. Jared manages somehow to spit up into his face. The guy hits him hard under the jaw, knocking his head back, and raises the blade in his hand. Plunges it down. Jared twists as best he can. Agony explodes in his side like he’s never felt. Jared screams, twists away. Oh god, he’s pinned to the table. His throat is a knot of fire. Something bangs out of his field of vision, and there’s shouting. A gunshot: someone falls. Jared’s torturer gets his hand around the knife’s handle, and then he flies backward, blood arcing from his chest. Jared registers the double impact of gunfire too late. He tries to swallow but his body won’t respond. Can’t—

He mind tips and falls over the edge.

**

 _Political prisoners who don’t even want to be rescued?_ The low light of Jared’s porch carves out hollows in Jensen’s face.

 _Just getting the lay of the land for the extraction team,_ Jared says, leaning in to clink their beer bottles together. Jensen’s fingers tighten around his bottle. He looks away, a frown marring his brow.

 _I don’t like you going in alone. Not this time._

 _What, you think I can’t handle myself?_ He likes being cheeky to Jensen because Jensen has never risen to it, and Jared’s life goal is to end that streak.

Jensen just looks at him. His gaze sweeps up and down, and Jared sits a little taller while Jensen assesses him. Like he’s a weapon. Finally, Jensen’s eyes find his again. _You aren’t what worries me._

**

The two of them mesh. After a while, they can read each other’s body language and intentions so well it’s as if they’re sharing a brain. Jared learns things without even speaking, and Jensen can read his next move almost before Jared has decided he’s going to make it.

There are a few certainties in Jared’s life these days. One, Jensen comes across as slightly paranoid but, two, his intuition is always sound. Three, when Jared listens to it, they both stay alive.

The fourth comes later: Jensen trusts him absolutely, and Jared’s humbled to have earned that.

**

He’s on a bed. His body aches and his head is awash in a fog that vaguely concerns him. Feels like drugs. He squeezes his fingers again around the hand in his and turns his head. It’s like moving a boulder.

Jensen’s asleep on the pillow next to him, fingers tucked into Jared’s. There is dirt all over his face, his arms, and stains on his shirt. He looks so peaceful.

**

 _There’s only one sure thing, Jared._

It’s Chris Kane’s retirement party. They’ve each had four glasses of champagne out on the balcony above the city, and Chris fist-checks Jared as he passes. Jared waits until Chris has moved on before he says, _What’s that?_

Jensen follows Chris’ progress with his eyes. _They send us in teams and in pairs, with a thousand pieces of intel and every type of surveillance they have at their disposal. But the truth is, we’re alone out there. All of us. They’re a hundred miles away, holding our lives in their hands._

Jared watches Jensen. Studies him. _You’re saying we’re all we’ve got?_

Laughter bursts out inside and Jensen turns to face Jared, to look him in the eye. Their hands brush, the bottoms of wine glasses clinking. _I’m saying I’ve got you. And I know exactly what that means, Jared._

Jared runs the words over his tongue. He smiles, slow and wide. _Then I’m glad you’re the one out there with me when I’m alone, man._

**

“Jen.”

Jensen’s eyes open, pupils contracting. For a moment, he just looks at Jared. Then his hand clenches tight around Jared’s palm.

Jared manages a smile. His own voice sounds acid-washed. “Hey.”

Jensen reaches, brushing hair out of Jared’s eyes. “Hey,” he whispers.

It’s a small room, cement like a bunker. There’s a window in one wall and rain pours down outside, drops smattering apart on glossy leaves. Jared was here, days ago, cleaning his guns and memorizing maps. Schematics. Maybe a half hour’s walk from the compound proper.

Jensen got him out. It’s all Jared can think. Jensen came in, shot up the place, and pulled Jared out.

“You came after me,” he murmurs. Frowns as he realizes. “By yourself.”

Something trips across Jensen’s face, scoring years into the spaces around his eyes, the corners of his mouth. There are things there that Jared knows nothing about, dire things. But Jensen just touches his cheek and secures his grip on Jared’s hand. “Of course I did. Now, sleep.”

**

Jensen has been shot a total of six times since he became Jared’s partner. Two of those times were self-inflicted, getting Jensen out of the picture so that Jared could take their opponent out. One of those bullets nicked an artery.

Jared was damn glad of Jensen’s medical background then. He was also glad of his belt.

 _Tighter,_ Jensen wheezes. _Have to stop the bleeding or I’m dead._

Well. Jared can’t have that. He wrenches the belt until Jensen shouts. Jared has the bruises from Jensen’s fingers on his forearm for days.

 _You get a D-minus in shooting yourself,_ Jared says, propping Jensen’s leg up over his shoulder.

Jensen rolls his eyes, but laughs anyway. Jared’s heart rate finally drops when he hears the first siren.

**

He’s being pulled through the jungle. Leaves sweep into his eyes and across his skin, and he’s broken, everything’s broken, grinding and shifting as he goes. It’s relentless; he tries to stop and can’t. The pain grows and grows and grows, and Jared jolts out of sleep.

The other side of the bed is empty. Jared can’t breathe. He’s stuck in his mind, tearing through bracken at night, smelling blood and water, ears filled with the buzzing of insects. “Jen—” he tries.

Someone takes his hand. “Shh, breathe, s’okay. Just breathe.”

Jared does. It’s Jensen’s voice. Jensen props him up gently, and it still hurts like a fresh wound. He groans, feels sicker than sick. “Gonna—”

Jensen seizes him around the waist and holds him over the side of the bed, and Jared vomits. Pain tears along his side and through his throat. He can feel Jensen’s hand pressing over his side, holding the area immobile while he retches. His eyes burn and for several excruciating seconds, he can’t breathe. He grabs at Jensen’s arm. Manages his name.

And then it’s over and Jared stares blearily down into a rusted bucket filled with bile. He becomes aware of Jensen’s hand against his forehead, bracing him, holding his hair back. Jensen eases him slowly back to the bed. “Let me check your stitches, alright?”

Like Jared would stop him. Jensen comes around to the other side of the bed and leans over, brow furrowed. He looks exhausted; his eyes are red-rimmed. “Gonna change the dressing now.”

He strips Jared’s bandage as carefully as he can, wipes down the area to the burn of alcohol in Jared’s nose, and rewraps the wound. Once he’s done, he gets up and goes to the rickety chair by the window. Picks up a gun and settles it across his thigh. There’s a long knife next to him on the window sill. He’s in black pants and a bloodied white tank top. Jared can see the old scars on his shoulder and forearm.

Besides Jared’s near-death, besides their location, something’s not right. And whatever it is, it’s bad. “Jensen, what?”

Jensen’s gaze remains on the jungle outside. Jared can see he’s got the safety off his gun. “Jared, what was the last assignment you were on before this one?”

They’re partners, but some things are incredibly classified; it’s not an odd question. “The Antilles. With you.”

Jensen barely twitches. “If there’s anything else, anything they told you not to talk about…”

“There isn’t.” He’s not lying. Something in Jensen’s voice strips the ability from him, a dark and urgent undercurrent. His hand is clenched around the gun.

Jensen’s mouth twists into a grimace. Jared wants to ask him to come closer, to sit with him. Explain. But he doesn’t think Jensen will leave the chair until dark.

**

Jared learns Jensen’s real name over a bowl of nachos in a tiny restaurant tucked onto the end of the strip mall near his house.

He laughs, sitting back in his chair and holding his soda in one hand. _Yeah, I know that’s the real one. Way too weird to be fake._

Jensen’s still trying to dislike him, Jared knows it. His partner is extremely good at indicating his distaste with a single curl of his lip. It’s useless now, though; Jared knows what this revelation means.

 _Oh? I suppose you’re the local expert on weird names._

 _Padalecki._ Jared extends a hand. Jensen stares.

 _Please tell me that’s your first name. Please._ Jensen’s laughing at him inside, Jared just knows it.

 _Sorry to disappoint. Just regular ol’ Jared, there._

Jensen snorts and shakes his head. A grin is definitely playing around his lips as he sips his soda. _You still win. By a landslide._

**

He feels each cut like it is the first. His arms, his legs, his chest. And then the knife plunges and he watches it come, silver and slick. He screams for Jensen and makes no sound. The knife strikes. Rises. Strikes again. Again.

Someone enters the room and Jared opens his eyes.

The jungle is dark, but not silent. A million insects. He hears footsteps cross the floor, and suddenly he’s wide awake. That isn’t Jensen’s stride.

Jared lunges and grabs for the gun under the pillow. He gets it around in time to hit his attacker in the face. The person stumbles and grabs hold of his wrist, twisting hard. Jared’s fingers release the gun; he hears it thunk to the floor. Jared pulls his arms inward, jerking a warm body over his lap. Weight smacks into his abdomen and fresh fire erupts. Jared’s vision goes abruptly white. He can’t hold on. His attacker pulls free and straddles his chest, striking downward with one solid elbow. Jared deflects it, barely, jamming his fingers upward in the direction of the person’s eyes. A male grunt bursts out. Jared slams his palm into the man’s chin, snapping his head back. But he can’t get the guy off of him.

He’s going to lose. He can feel wet warmth against his injured side. Jensen, god, where’s Jensen? This man must have gotten past him, which means—

Jared grunts and hits the guy again, pure anger this time. But he’s too weak. It feels like he’s run miles, his heart is pounding in his temples, low on blood, beating desperately with what it’s got. He tries to knee the man in the groin, but the sheets twist around his legs. His attacker punches him in his bad side, just missing the wound itself. Jared’s breath shoots out of him. He locks his arms, shoving at the man’s shoulders, _keep him away, keep him away, keep him—_

More footsteps, then hands appear on either side of his assailant’s face. The man’s eyes widen, but one of those hands already has a good lock on his jaw. A twist, the crack of bones, and the man slumps off the bed. Jensen drops him, chest heaving. He lunges for Jared, hands finding his face, cupping his cheeks.

“Jared? Jared, talk to me!”

Jared can’t. He still can’t breathe. He lifts a hand instead and grips Jensen’s wrist. Squeezes. Jensen slumps forward as if he can’t hold himself up. His hair brushes Jared’s nose, smelling of earth and rain, and then Jensen’s moving, pulling free and kneeling down where his pack lies beside the bed. Something clicks, and Jared sees a flashlight in Jensen’s hand. “Jared. Where?”

Jensen’s alive. Oh god, Jared thought he’d been—

“Side,” he manages. His attacker was good. Assessed his weak spots immediately and used them against him. Jensen yanks the sheets away. Jared feels fingers press against his skin. Jensen props the flashlight on the pillow and digs in his bag. Things scatter, little plinks on the floor. The smell of alcohol blooms again and Jared has no time to prepare himself for the jagged sting when Jensen pushes a wet cloth against his side. Jared shuts his eyes, feeling tears squeeze out.

“Hey, you with me?” Fingers on his face, stroking away the damp threads. Jared turns his face into Jensen’s palm and nods. Jensen’s thumb brushes his cheek. “Just popped a couple stitches. Gonna be just fine. Jared?”

Jensen’s voice is strained, raspy and dipping in and out like a bad signal on a telephone. Jared takes as deep a breath as he dares and looks up, intending to speak. To assure Jensen.

What he finds in Jensen’s face silences him. It’s like a wall on its last legs, crumbling to pieces as Jensen tries his damnedest to hold the stones in place.

“Oh. Jen,” Jared gets out. And Jensen breaks. His shoulders heave, a terrible shudder, and his head drops. Jared hears a ragged sound, so close to a sob that the weight of it wells in Jared’s own throat. Jensen’s hand trembles against his face. Jared reaches, sliding one palm down Jensen’s upper arm— he’s wearing his black recon shirt again and the material is stiff with filth. Jensen shudders, crumpling further, little hitching sounds on each breath. Jared doesn’t know what to do. He slips his hand up, squeezing Jensen’s nape.

Jared feels the first tears drip onto his chest when Jensen’s head droops. His nose presses against the skin of Jared’s shoulder, followed by his cheek. Jared can feel the strangled huffs of air gliding over his skin. He blinks up into the darkness, numb with the sheer magnitude of it.

**

He’s seen Jensen at the end of his rope before, only once, and it was truly unsettling.

Jensen stares at the door to the outer stairwell, watching it bulge as water rampages its way over the boat. Streams spurt through the cracks, raising the water level to their knees. It’s freezing. The radio is completely fucked. Jensen’s eyes shut down in a way Jared’s never seen before. He sways as the boat tilts further on its side.

 _Your call,_ he says quietly.

Jared used his last idea up five minutes ago, trying to get the skylight in the ceiling open before the boat sank below the surface. He opens his mouth, tries to speak. Jensen watches him as nothing comes out.

 _Fucking bastards,_ Jared finally mutters. Jensen smiles, but his eyes are still closed off.

The water’s up to mid-thigh now. There’s nothing with which to break through the wood, nothing to stave off the displacement of air with the ocean. They’re going deeper every second. Jared eyes the door.

 _Open the fucker,_ he says.

Jensen looks at him. Jared shrugs.

 _Open it. Let it flood._

Jensen thinks about it. _Door’s angled toward the bottom and we have no idea how deep we are._

Jared tries on a grin for size and finds that it doesn’t quite fit. _So we die out there instead of in here._

Jensen watches him intently for another two seconds. _Alright,_ he says. _Open the fucker._

**

The dead man is Agent Spence. Jared shuts his eyes. They went through training together.

Jensen sits on the bed with his back against the wall. He hasn’t said a word since he broke apart in Jared’s arms. Jared remembers the sure motion of Jensen’s hands after, as he re-stitched what had snapped. Now Jensen stares straight ahead, turning his Browning over and over in his hands.

“Tell me,” Jared whispers.

“They’re looking for us.” His voice is so flat. Nothing about the statement is reassuring, and it should be. “I don’t know why yet. I was hoping you did.”

Jared looks at the ceiling. He can feel the heat of Jensen’s leg beside him. The sound of Jensen turning the gun over and over has almost become a rhythm. Like a heartbeat. “The Agency sent him here. For me? Or for you.”

The gun stills and Jensen sighs. “Woke up because someone was in my bedroom. Got this putting him down.” He holds out his left arm. Jared hadn’t noticed the partially healed gash across his wrist until now. The wound looks raw. Jensen retracts his hand. “Haven’t been back since.”

Jensen goes silent. He stares at the dead man, then turns and presses the gun into Jared’s hand. “Should never have left you alone in the first place.”

“Jensen.”

“They’ll be tracking him.” Jensen gets off the bed and circles it, then stands there looking down at the body of Agent Spence. “Gotta get him out of here.”

Jared opens his mouth, holding the weight of Jensen’s gun in his lap, but Jensen looks right at him.

“Shoot anything that comes through that door before I get back.”

Jared stares at his partner and Jensen stares right back.

“Jared?”

“Yeah.”

Another second ticks by. Jensen breaks eye contact and bends, grabbing Agent Spence’s arms and hauling him off the floor. He carries him to the door and disappears. Jared chambers a round. The sound echoes off the walls.

**

The Agency has three methods of locating its agents in the field.

All are provided with radio technology as well as individualized red-codes for short-range communication, which are systematically disbanded at the completion of each mission. Deep infiltration agents are fitted with a tracking device embedded subdermally; each agent’s IdentiTrans chip is placed at an undisclosed point on his or her body, and transmits on a coded frequency over long distances. Transmission ceases in the event of death.

Agents on Black Ops missions are provided with no traceable form of communication or identification save the chip. They are given a single-spike long range transmitter, to be used only once and only under extreme duress. The likelihood of successful retrieval is subsequently evaluated by intel. The extraction may be aborted according to this evaluation at any time.

**

“I contacted the Agency as soon as I had a chance. They ordered me in to debrief me, and when I got there, they took my weapon and stuck me in a holding cell with two guards. At first I thought someone on the inside had been compromised.”

Jensen’s gaze remains fixed out the window, his arm resting on the sill. Outside, the sky is beginning to lighten.

“The guy in my house had a Black Ops issue stiletto,” Jensen continues, and Jared tries to sit up before collapsing back to the bed with a groan. Jensen rises and helps him to settle. He looks calm, for all that he’s said. “You need to drink some water.”

Jared doesn’t want water. “Jensen. Who was—”

“Didn’t know him,” Jensen says, leaning back over the bed with a canteen. Jared drinks a little, until his stomach rolls alarmingly, thinking about strangers in houses, about waking from one nightmare to another.

When Jared is done, Jensen retakes his seat. His back is to the wall now, and he leans over with his arms on his thighs, looking intently at his hands. “I cracked Cassidy and Hodge’s heads and went to Sec Ops to get some information. It was all locked out. All I could get on my own was basic schematics on your mission, Jared. Just yours.”

Even Jared had not been given everything this time. He waited, giving them a moment of quiet. “How did you get the rest of it?”

Jensen raises his head slowly to look Jared in the eye, and Jared knows someone died. He doesn’t press.

Jensen swallows and looks back at his hands. “They had you listed as KIA, and there was your chip, still blinking away like a beacon. I shut the fucker down, got my gear, and came after you.”

**

Jared grips the armrest and forces himself to look the director in the face. _I’m happy with my current partner, sir. Neither of us wants or needs a change._

 _You sure about that?_ Kripke’s eyes are shallow and pearl-blue. Jared has never once been able to read a thing from them.

He forces himself to ask. _Has Agent Ackles said otherwise?_

Kripke just watches him. Jared glares back.

 _Agent Padalecki._ Kripke gives him an empty smile. _You both have valuable skills that could be passed on. The agency would benefit from your temporary split._

Jared stands abruptly. _The answer’s no. Find someone else to train your recruits. Sir._

Kripke doesn’t bother to call him back. Jared expects it all the way up to the moment the door closes behind him.

**

When he can’t keep silent anymore, Jared asks.

Jensen waits for so long that Jared almost asks again, and then he just starts talking. “They had supplies in the compound. I did it there. You were bleeding out.”

Jared remembers dreaming of heat. Pain. Horrors within horrors.

Jensen drops his eyes. “Then I grabbed everything I could carry and pulled you out.” His mouth twists. “Couldn’t go any farther than here. You had a fever and my patch job was reopening.”

There are careful stitches down Jared’s left side, nothing but a neat seam. His cuts are clean and bandaged. There is no sign of infection. Jensen calls it his ‘patch job’.

 _What else?_ he starts, but Jensen’s eyes are so full it stops him. There’s more, much more, and whatever it is, Jensen is reliving it behind a slowly slipping mask.

There are other questions he can ask for now. “Anyone left at the compound?”

Jensen grimaces. “Couldn’t torch it. Too easy to spot. If there were any survivors, they ran.”

Jared doesn’t need a translation for what Jensen has yet to say: eventually, they won’t be alone in this jungle.

He shuts his eyes. “How long before they get here?”

He can hear Jensen inhale. “Three days. Tops. I worked Sec Ops over with the fire axe before I left. Didn’t know how long it would take me to find you.”

“Three days.” Jared breathes deep and opens his eyes. “Alright. We’ll go, then.”

A faint smile tugs at Jensen’s mouth. “I don’t think so.”

Jared tries to sit up and gets as far as leaning on one elbow. “Jensen—”

Jensen presses him back down with one hand. “If you try to walk out of here right now, you’re going to open up everything I put back together and start hemorrhaging again.”

Jared stares up at Jensen. There is a lot of anguish buried behind his partner’s eyes. Jared wonders exactly what happened to him back on that table after he passed out. Jensen straightens up slowly, his hand sliding off Jared’s shoulder.

“We’re staying here for now.”

**

Again, the question is obvious. But Jared’s afraid of the answer.

 _What if three days roll by and I’m not ready?_

He keeps it to himself. When the time comes, he’ll deal with it.

**

The day Jensen’s mentor is killed in the field, Jared drives Jensen back to his place. Jensen’s quiet. There’s a dullness to his eyes that makes Jared unwilling to leave him alone.

He puts together a stir fry with only half his attention on the stove. Jensen sits on the couch staring at his hands. Around 7:00 PM, he stands up and moves to Jared’s front porch.

Jared finishes dinner and brings their plates outside. The evening is warm, sultry with the fading summer. The crickets have already begun their symphony.

Jensen eats slowly but steadily. Jared can see that his mind isn’t anywhere near his food.

 _How’s Kane taking it?_ Jensen asks, the first thing he’s said since they heard.

Jared leans over and settles his hand on Jensen’s forearm. _How’re_ you _taking it?_

It’s the first time Jared sees a trace of moisture in his partner’s eyes.

 _I don’t actually know_ is Jensen’s answer.

Jared hands him a beer. He didn’t know Jeff Morgan well, but Jensen did. Jared thinks of his mentor, years ago. Samantha Smith was pragmatic and patient, more friend than colleague. She retired ages ago. As far as he knows, she’s still alive.

Jensen sighs. Rubs his face with one hand. When Jared squeezes his shoulder, Jensen slumps into it and doesn’t move away.

**

It’s dark as pitch outside and Jared can’t sleep. The jungle hums. Some instinct tells him it’s incredibly early in the morning. Jensen has a Chemlight tube glowing at the foot of his chair. It casts him in strange blue shadows.

“You hungry?”

Jared isn’t. But that’s not the real concern. “I could eat.”

Jensen holds up an MRE packet. Jared’s not sure if his stomach will take food, but he’s not doing either of them any good by not trying to improve his strength. He watches Jensen set up the flameless ration heater packet and place the MRE on top.

When it’s done, Jensen opens it carefully. It smells like soup. Broth sounds manageable; Jared takes a careful sip and burns his tongue, but the taste makes his mouth water. Jensen stands beside the bed and helps him drink, little by little.

A quarter of the way through, his stomach does rebel, and Jared pushes the packet away. The room spins for a worrisome moment, but by the time Jensen returns to the bed with the bucket, Jared’s no longer on the verge of vomiting.

No more soup, though.

Jensen drinks the rest; it will never keep in this climate once it’s cool, and Jared’s certain there are others cached in the wall. He put them there when he first arrived.

“You should sleep,” he says. Jensen shakes his head.

“No.”

Not _I’m fine_. Not _later_. There is no denial of the fact, just refusal.

Jared watches him where he stands by the window, peering beyond the makeshift curtain. If Jared could sleep, he would. It makes him wonder if Jensen can sleep.

“What are you planning to do?”

Jensen’s fingers tighten a little around the Browning. “Keep them away from you.”

Jared has no idea why they even want him. If it’s really just him they want. What he did to incur the Agency’s ire. Maybe what he didn’t do.

“They sent you to die in there,” Jensen says in a low voice. He’s talking more to the window than to Jared.

“They sent me to—”

“Jared, there are _no prisoners here_ ,” Jensen cuts in. “None. No politics within fifty miles. No diplomats, no ransom demands. Just sadists and psychopaths with interesting tools, and you can bet the Agency knew it.”

He’s been trying to ignore it, but Jensen is right and it’s been creeping up on him for hours. Jared holds his breath, trying to find a space in which to settle his mind.

“I don’t know why.” Jensen’s words come in a whisper. “Why you, why here. Why anything. I didn’t have the time. I had to get to you.”

Still the fear does not take hold. Just resignation. Acceptance that he is in danger, and has been for days, maybe months. But he’s safe at this moment and his body knows it. He’s not trained to keep reacting to old news. And maybe he knew it even before Jensen spelled it out.

Jensen performed surgery on him. Not just a line of stitches; he went deep. There was a reason to go deep, even with only the bare minimum at hand, and Jensen did it in a compound he hadn’t even fully cleared.

Jared’s throat feels swollen. He almost asks how close he came. “Jen?”

Jensen jerks his head, a tiny shake. He does not meet Jared’s eyes. Jared looks at the Browning and finds whitened knuckles. The dried blood on Jensen’s clothing isn’t Jensen’s, not any of it. It’s a lot of blood.

“Come here?” Jared holds out his hand.

Jensen swallows visibly. He comes closer, passing Jared’s outstretched palm. Jared can’t stop looking at him, Jensen, who saved his life.

He feels full; everything’s expanding inside, pressing outward against his ribs and his skin. Jared shudders at the twinge of gooseflesh. He grips Jensen’s arm and slides his palm up and down. Tendons flex under his fingers. Jensen’s face is a blank slate.

He’s so warm. Life blood coursing just under Jared’s hand.

His breath catches and Jensen’s eyes flicker.

Jared curls his fingers into Jensen’s sleeve and pulls. Jensen sways gently forward. Jared sees it when his jaw tightens. He reaches further, his hand bumping, aimless, over Jensen’s shoulder to his chest, and presses his palm there, fingers wide. Jensen inhales so fast that his breath whistles; his body moves with it and Jared feels every inch. He closes his fist again in the fabric of Jensen’s shirt and releases, jerking his hand back, skidding down to the quick heave and fall of Jensen’s ribs.

“Jensen—”

God, he has so many things to say, and he’s got nothing. Why, _why?_ Not the how or the where, but the reason he’s still alive, the reason he’s been sewn up and put back together, the reason he’s having trouble assimilating his own thoughts. He can’t pull away from the proof, the heat leaching from Jensen’s skin, through his shirt and down Jared’s arm, the swell of breath drawn, the knowledge that this is Jensen. It’s _Jensen_.

Fingers touch his jaw and slip away. Jared can feel tension all through Jensen’s body, vibrating between them. Jensen leans closer. Their faces are so close their lips brush, as light as the touch to his jaw.

“I refuse to live my life without you in it,” Jensen breathes. It rushes over Jared’s mouth and shudders through his bones. He tilts up, kisses Jensen, pulls him down.

Jensen’s mouth is salt. Smoke. Frenzy. His hands tremble where they hold Jared’s face, his body is hot as fever where they’re pressed together, and Jared’s mind trips over itself. He hauls Jensen in; right then, nothing else makes sense.

Something stretches, his side stabs; Jared cries out, and Jensen jerks back and gets off the bed. He leans over and presses his lips to Jared’s forehead and holds them there, shaking. Jared grips Jensen’s sides while the pain recedes. He feels wetness in his hair. Jensen turns his head, rubs his cheek against Jared’s forehead and pulls away. He walks without a word to the window and sits down again. Takes up his gun.

**

Since Jensen became his partner, Jared has killed seventeen people to protect him. To keep Jared alive, Jensen has killed twelve.

None of those deaths were fellow agents until now.

**

He makes Jensen sleep before the sun hits its zenith. It won’t be good sleep, but Jensen is running on pure fumes. His exhaustion pushes against Jared as if it has mass.

In the end, Jensen seals his own fate when he can’t muster the energy to argue. Jared’s insides may be held together by the medical equivalent of duct tape and paperclips, but he can still sight along a barrel and pull a trigger. Jensen gets him upright against the wall— the pain is excruciating— and tucks his Glock into Jared’s hands. He shoves the Browning under his pillow and drops right there next to Jared, one hand still wrapped around his gun.

Jensen sleeps and Jared watches the door.

The tension remains, lining Jensen’s brow and hunching his shoulders. He barely moves except to breathe. Within an hour, Jared hears the sound of grinding teeth and touches Jensen’s shoulder.

Jensen jolts awake and is halfway up before Jared stops him. Jensen flops down, pushes the gun back under his pillow, and ends up asleep with his hand curled around Jared’s wrist this time, fingertips just over his pulse point.

Jensen’s fingers are comfortably warm.

**

Strange dreams. Dreams he can’t remember. His sister from years ago, with pigtails.

Jared wakes up to blackness, one of his hands wrapped around his other wrist. It’s off, something’s off. Missing. Wrong.

“Jared?”

He’s so tired. So fucking tired. He reaches out into the dark toward Jensen’s voice. A second passes, then fingers find his, their grip sure.

Jared’s mind sinks down again.

**

Another day goes by and Jared has Jensen wrap him up from hips to armpits. He needs to be mobile and he knows their time is running out. They both know.

Jensen reminds him of the broken rib in the middle of his chest. It twinges every time he moves. Jared notices the particular location of the break, but doesn’t have it in him to ask.

Jensen uses the widest bandage he has and binds Jared tightly to stabilize the wound. Jared tries to leave the bed. Jensen pushes him back without a word and loosens the bandage again. They leave it wrapped around him, ready to be tightened.

**

Carlson isn’t a talker, not for the first year. Jared is, and for a while he is even more so because he likes bothering his new partner. It’s amusing. Carlson has the most articulate facial expressions.

 _Here’s a thought,_ Carlson yells. He aims down the range and Jared sees him settle. _Could try being quiet._

Six shots, rapid as lightning. Jared pulls off his earmuffs and presses the retracting button.

 _Don’t stunt my strengths._

Carlson lays the gun on the counter and tugs off his own muffs. _Strengths, huh?_

Jared hears the whizz of the target approaching. He grins. _Actually, it’s more like a gift._

Carlson’s eyes narrow on the target. He grunts. _Disability._

Six holes, all clustered around the center of the silhouette’s chest. Jared glances at Carlson.

 _You think that’s gonna render me speechless, you need to get out more._

He swears Carlson smiles. Just for a second.

**

“Ready with those?”

Jared grits his teeth and nods. He’s going to be sick. The soup again, maybe, or just something substantial in his stomach after so long without. He puts the Glock aside with shaking hands, next to the other guns he’s loaded.

Jensen leaves the side of the window and comes around the bed, eyes trained on the door. “How you doing?”

“I’ll manage.”

Jensen frowns, but there’s a rushing sound just outside, leaves over leaves like a sudden wind. Jared freezes. Jensen sets his back to the wall and crouches a little, eyeing the door.

The nausea sweeps over him too fast; he can’t help it. Jared lurches over, nearly falling off the bed. Jensen grabs him and Jared retches. The door slams open. Jensen snaps the gun up with one hand, still holding Jared tightly to his side.

“Don’t come any closer,” Jensen hisses, “or I swear to god I’ll put a bullet in your head.”

The woman by the door doesn’t listen. She raises her gun. Jensen pulls the trigger. The silencer sucks the explosion into a slick bang and the woman staggers and drops. Not a headshot then, but Jared can see a lot of blood. Throat, maybe. The woman lies on the floor and doesn’t move.

Jensen’s hand shakes.

“Think you can walk?” It’s nothing more than a whisper, right into Jared’s ear. Jared shuts his eyes against the vertigo.

“If you need me to.”

Jensen kisses his temple and hauls him to his feet.

**

They’re into the trees with an instant to spare. Jensen presses Jared between himself and a wide trunk, peering through the foliage as people come out of the jungle like smoke. Someone passes by only fifteen paces away. Jared can feel Jensen’s heart thudding a counterpoint to his own. He tracks her with the Glock, arm steadied on Jensen’s shoulder, until she passes into the trees.

“There’ll be boats,” Jensen whispers, barely audible. “Choppers, something. They sure as fuck have a way out of here.”

“Then so do we.” Jared might just fall over. They can’t afford that. “Jen, let me down.”

Jensen helps him to his knees amongst the knotted roots and wipes his brow. Jared works to catch his breath. Telling Jensen to leave him is pointless, and Jared doesn’t want him to anyway.

What he wouldn’t give for a second silencer.

“Shore’s that way.” He gestures behind him. Jensen doesn’t answer.

They’re tearing up the bunker now, slicing the mattress, pulling every little bit of information out of it that they can. Jared can see it in his mind’s eye. He’s been one of them, ransacking a safe house when an agent doesn’t turn up where he or she should.

“I stole a boat on the mainland.” It’s very soft. Jared has to strain to hear Jensen. His partner’s eyes flicker back to him and off in the direction of the bunker again. “It’s possible they found it. If they didn’t—”

It won’t have trackers on it, not if it’s a local craft. Jared’s pulse picks up. He can see their salvation in sight.

“Where?”

Jensen whispers coordinates to him in a low, calm voice, and Jared commits them to memory. It will be risky to use the GPS Jensen liberated from stock; if the Agency really has its eyes open, they could trace the signal when it bounces. Jared already knows they’re going to use the GPS anyway.

Another agent comes out of the foliage. And another.

Jensen glances at Jared from the corner of his eye. “Jared, if we get separated, get hold of Chris Kane.” He passes a scrap of paper to Jared with a phone number on it. “Tell him ‘Jeff Morgan’s back.’ Kane will know how to help you.”

There are so many things wrong with those instructions; Jeff Morgan died years ago, before Kane retired. Jared stares at Jensen, but his partner isn’t quite looking at him. “ _If_ we get separated.”

Jensen doesn’t respond.

**

They’ve called in a lot for this. A lot. Jared can only name a third of the people emerging from the trees. The itch under his skin grows and grows with each new arrival. Just what did they fuck up?

When Fuller walks out, Jared forgets to breathe.

Fucking _Fuller_ is here.

Jensen’s glance at Jared is sharp, full of alarm. Fuller’s high up, just under Kripke. His field work involves only the most crucial of assignments, the ones the Agency can’t afford to screw up.

Brown arrives next. Jared feels Jensen stiffen beside him. He hears Brown confirming reports he’s receiving through his earpiece, passing them along to Fuller. New information comes again and again, different areas cleared, all negative. Jared’s gut ties itself into a knot.

The jungle is literally alive with agents, moving as silently as snow. All trained like him and Jensen. All capable of what they’re capable of.

“Shit.” It’s nothing but a breath, but Jared hears it clear as day. And now he can hear subtle motion behind him, to their right and their left, everywhere. They haven’t been found yet, but if they stay here, it’s only a matter of time.

“You need to go,” Jensen murmurs. Jared can see his fingers moving over his gun, wiping sweat from the grip, stroking the trigger. It’s Jensen’s routine and also his tell. There has not been one mission where Jensen hasn’t fidgeted with his gun.

“Split up, meet at the boat?” It’s a sound plan, better odds, but Jared’s going to be moving a hell of a lot slower than Jensen. His entire body aches, he feels too hot, and he’s not even thinking about the low, deep agony in his side.

Jensen hesitates for just a fraction of a second. “Yeah.”

Jared can read the real plan underneath that single word.

Jensen hasn’t had any real sleep in days. Jared _knows_ what’s going to happen. “No.” His voice cracks. He grabs onto Jensen’s arm, gripping too tight. “Jensen.”

Jensen wheels around and takes Jared’s face in his hands, bringing them so close that Jared can feel Jensen’s breath over his cheeks. “Jared.” His eyes flick back and forth between Jared’s. “Listen to me. I’ll be alright. Okay? I have insurance for them to think about. And you can’t be caught. If they have you, I will give them everything.”

It’s bullshit. What insurance can Jensen possibly have? “Jen—”

“You _cannot be caught_ , do you hear me?” Jensen’s tone silences him completely. There’s a look in Jensen’s eyes that Jared has never seen. It’s wild and desperate, and it scares Jared down to the marrow.

“Go to the beach, the one you landed on. They’ll have guards, so keep out of sight until you reach the coordinates. Take this.” He slides the strap of his pack into Jared’s hand. Jared holds it limply.

“Don’t do this, Jen.”

“Jared?” Jensen looks him in the eye. “You need extra time to get clear, and I’ll get it for you. I’ll be right behind you.”

“No, you won’t,” Jared whispers, and Jensen’s eyes flicker.

**

He’s never left a partner. Not when they’ve been shot, not when he’s been shot. Not when the whole mission has been fucked to hell.

He gets in trouble for it with Kripke himself a year after he and Jensen first partner up, before he even knows Jensen’s real name.

 _You had a duty to the mission. First. Always first._

He stands in front of Kripke’s desk, glares at the wall over the man’s head, and keeps himself from breaking the beveled glass paperweight a foot from his right hand. _And what about my duty to my partner? What’s that worth, sir?_

 _Less than your objective._

He receives an official reprimand on his record and two weeks’ dismissal.

Leaving Jensen behind has occurred to him as an option on numerous occasions, and it infuriates him every time.

**

The first shot makes Jared wince. He listens as underbrush breaks and rustles; someone shouts, calls for assistance.

A few seconds later, they drag Jensen out of the trees, halfway across the clearing from where Jared crouches.

The smile on Brown’s face is ugly. He takes the Browning, tossed to him by one of Jensen’s captors. They’ve got his hands behind him, bound tight with a zip-tie. Standard issue: lightweight, strong as hell, easy to use, and quick. They manhandle Jensen into the circle, yanking him to a stop in front of Fuller.

“Carlson,” the assistant director says. “Nice to see you again.”

Jensen doesn’t answer, just stares at Fuller with a stiff expression. Fuller leans in, smiling.

“Left us a little mess back home, you know.”

Jensen remains silent. Fuller looks over Jensen to the agents holding him. “You find Abel?”

Jared’s alias. Jensen and the higher-ups are the only ones who know differently. The agents holding Jensen shake their heads. “No sign, sir,” one of them answers. “He used the bunker. It’s been stocked and there’s a fair amount of bloody bandages in the corner.”

They can all see that Jensen doesn’t have a wound that requires bandaging. Jared curses silently. Should have buried it. Thrown it in the river.

There wasn’t time.

He needs to leave. Use every last second Jensen is buying him to get to the shore. Jared can’t do it. He can’t leave Jensen there, and not know.

Fuller has turned his attention back to Jensen. “Where’s Jake Abel?”

Jensen’s jaw tightens visibly. His gaze fixes itself on the ground.

“He’s dead.”

No one says anything at first. Fuller lifts his chin. “When?”

“Two days ago.”

Brown laughs, a disruptive snort. “Abel’s not dead. Carlson’d have no reason to be here if he was.”

Jensen looks Brown in the face and sneers. “And what the fuck reason do I have to go back?”

Jared watches. He’s trained to read a person’s subtlest twitches, and they’re buying it: here, Jensen has food. Shelter for the very short term. He might have stayed while working out what to do next. But then Jensen laughs. It’s a cold, cold sound.

“Fuck you,” he spits. “I tried to save him. _I_ buried him. More than you’ve ever done.” The fury radiating from his frame is palpable. “Go see for your fucking selves. Downriver, one click.”

Jared squeezes his eyes shut. They’ll find a grave. And then they’ll know Jensen’s lying. His partner just bought him one more hour at most.

Fuller orders the majority of the agents away from Jared, in the direction of the river. Then he eyes Jensen for a long, long time while Brown stands just behind Jensen like a shadow. There are still six agents in the clearing. Eventually Fuller’s eyes narrow and he catches Brown’s attention. “He’ll do, then. Take him.”

Take him? Jared’s chest contracts. No way is he going to sit by and watch them tap Jensen twice in the head. He’ll get gunned down saving him first. His hands shake even as he trips the safety off the Glock.

But Jensen just speaks calmly. “Compound’s that hot, huh?”

Jared freezes along with Fuller. He stares hard at Jensen’s profile, willing him to talk himself out of this, talk _them_ out of this. Jared can provide cover enough for Jensen to get into the trees, and then they’ll just fucking run. For an instant, he doesn’t even care about getting away unnoticed anymore. They’ll run till their hearts fall out, or until Jared’s guts do.

Fuller approaches, signaling Brown closer. Jensen could fell one of them, maybe two, but not the whole group. He’ll be shot ten times before he even reaches the tree line. Jared lifts the Glock and trains it on Fuller’s head.

Then Fuller asks Jensen a question. And Jensen answers. They’re tucked up close, almost intimate, Brown’s face a mask of stone within hearing range. But Jared can’t hear. Can’t tell what Jensen’s saying.

Until Fuller’s expression shifts almost into dismay before hardening into anger. Jensen’s lips quirk as they stare each other down. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

Brown lifts his gun and strikes Jensen viciously on the side of his head. Jensen drops to the ground in a heap.

Jared bites down hard on the inside of his cheek. He wants to beat Brown’s face in. The taste in his mouth reminds him that neither he nor Jensen can afford that.

He’s weak. He can feel how exhausted his body is. And he can’t stay to watch what happens to Jensen, but he can’t get himself to move. Each step clear of them is a step away from Jensen, and he has _never_ deserted Jensen, not when Jensen is incapable of defending himself.

Jared doesn’t know if he can do it.

**

The heat rises from the runway tarmac in waves. Jared can hear the grind of engines beyond the tiny airplane hangar, the echo of shouting. Jensen wipes his brow and leaves a streak of grease across his forehead.

 _You should go. Get the boat before they’re crawling all over it._

Jared smirks and hands Jensen the Browning he’s just reloaded. He picks up the Glock and slides a new clip home. _You getting all sacrificial on me?_

Jensen snorts. _You’d have to be a lot prettier than that to justify depriving the world of this._

He gestures to his own face and Jared laughs.

**

He gets hold of one of his fellow agents far enough into the jungle to mute any sound. It doesn’t matter, as it turns out: even with his impaired strength, she’s half his size and no match for a choke hold from behind. He gets her a few seconds away from passing out, then pins her arms and slaps a hand over her mouth. He pulls the bud from her ear and hunkers down in the foliage, pressing her tightly between himself and a tree trunk.

“I don’t want to kill you— listen to me! I _will_ kill you if you fight.”

She doesn’t exactly go limp, but he can feel her trying to relax her muscles. Whether to obey him or escape him, it doesn’t matter; she’s not getting away any time soon.

She’s young. Blonde hair plaited into a rigid braid, and big eyes once he wrestles her night vision goggles down. He turns them, shoves the strap between her lips and cinches it tight. She gives a pained grunt.

They sit until Jared is certain the scuffle went unnoticed. Finally, he shoves the Glock into the hollow of her throat and pulls the strap past her chin. “Name and clearance level.”

She remains silent.

“You know who I am?” He waits for her nod, then continues. “Then you know I don’t need a gun to kill you.”

“Agent Tal,” she breathes. He feels the click as she swallows. “Fourth level.”

Brand new, and fucking green. Jared forces himself not to show his reaction. In the recesses of the jungle, he can still hear footsteps, the crunch of branches and the rustle of human movement. “Alright, Tal. Show me how you all are getting out of here.”

He feels it when she decides not to answer, simple instinct he’s been trained to wield like any other weapon. He threads fingers into her hair and tugs her head back. “I said,” Jared hisses directly into her ear, “show me your escape route. Or I will give you a demo of exactly what they did to me in that compound.”

He feels her go absolutely still.

“I don’t betray my own,” she spits.

Jared’s smile feels thin. “Is that what they told you I did?”

Tal stares up at him hatefully.

Jared breathes in and out, long and slow. “I’m not interested in why you think I should be dead. But you are about to give me plenty of reasons why _you_ should be.” He meets her gaze head-on and finds severe fright there, barely concealed. “Whatever they told you about me, my worldview at the moment is very narrow. It only involves one other person. What do they teach you about people like that?”

“Especially dangerous.” It’s nothing but a whisper.

Fuller is betting on sheer numbers to flush him out, it seems; Tal can’t be far beyond basic training. They could be tracking her, registering lack of movement.

“Why haven’t they killed him?”

Her face twists. He gives the gun barrel a shove.

 _“I don’t know.”_ Her eyes widen at the look on his face. “I don’t have clearance, Abel! You think Fuller’s going to tell me?”

One question is answered: they’re still exclusively using his alias. Jared stares her down. “What’s the plan, then?”

Her eyes narrow. “What?”

Jared jerks his head back the way they’ve come. “For Carlson. For me. What’s it all for?”

She snorts. She’s got spirit. The Agency will use it until it needs another body to feed to the monster of its next scheme. “This is retrieval and extraction of two known traitors. There is no _plan_.”

“Sure,” Jared mutters. He switches the gun for the knife in Jensen’s bag. Grits his teeth and yanks her up, blade to her throat. “Move.”

**

She cooperates most of the way through the jungle, and then he can just feel it building in her, that desire to succeed, to remain unbeaten. He’s felt it so many times he can recognize the taste of it on the air.

It’s a miracle she hasn’t noticed his true condition. Jared feels on the edge of darkness, the ache in his upper chest flaring, the agony in his abdomen crippling, compounded by the knowledge that he’s left Jensen. Jensen saved him and Jared left him behind.

Each step feels heavier than the one before it.

Jared gags her again and forces himself to drag her along. She’s light, but he can barely hold himself up. The red haze of pain dulls his senses and keeps him awake at the same time.

The beach is not vacant. There are boats, swift black skimmers lined up in a row. Four guards. They were planning for two escapees. Jared cuts the thought off. He yanks Tal upright and gets the chokehold around her neck again. She kicks furiously, and then desperately, but Jared’s size is on his side even if the rest of him isn’t: within moments, she goes limp. He retains the hold for another three seconds, then lets her gently down to the earth.

They’ll find her when they exit the trees. They’ll probably trip right over her.

He skirts the line of the jungle, keeping low and going painfully slowly. Jared doesn’t know anymore if that’s by design or by default. He’s never been in so much pain, not even in the compound. There, it was sharp and hot, but here it’s relentless, pulsing in greater and greater waves.

The boat is right where Jensen said it would be, a little fishing skiff with an outboard motor. Jared pushes it out and heaves himself in, landing hard on his bad side. For several moments, he is reduced to a white haze.

When he can breathe again, Jared hauls himself up. He’s drifted a little. He has an hour or so before the sun rises.

He inspects his side, hissing as he peels the corner of Jensen’s bandage back. The stitches are holding, but the skin around them is purple with bruising. Jared presses a hand to his chest to support his ribs and starts the engine. He’s in no shape to row. He fights down nausea and steers away from the shoreline, praying they aren’t close enough to hear the motor.

~fin~


End file.
